


The Case of the Great Rescue

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar
Genre: Chinese Drug Cartels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Neal’s Crew, POV-Neal Caffrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23213539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: When Peter is kidnapped, Hughes gives Neal carte blanche to find and rescue him if he is still alive.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Neal Caffrey & Reese Hughes, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	The Case of the Great Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> I was intending for my next weekly post to be a serious 3-part story, but instead, I’m offering something on the lighter side during this worrisome time in the world. Forget about the Corona virus for just a bit while you distract yourself with Neal’s antics.

Today I am not Neal Caffrey, a felon on parole working for the FBI. Instead, due to certain odd circumstances, I now find myself forced into the role of Neal Caffrey, private investigator. Normally, Peter Burke is my partner, but, since he is currently unavailable, Mozzie is playing the part of the indubitable Dr. Watson to my Sherlock Holmes. I know you may be a bit confused by this turn of events that has me doing unorthodox snooping stuff off the grid, so let me clue you in.

It had all started out as another mundane, run-of-the-mill White Collar case. Sotheby’s, as well as some other high-end auction houses in New York, had recently awarded several very expensive paintings to a new high bidder with very deep pockets. That tweaked Peter’s Spidey senses, and he was like a hound with his nose to the ground. With a little bit of digging, Peter and I found out more about the extravagant art enthusiast who had recently arrived on the scene. He was a board certified physician, but just barely. He had obtained his medical degree offshore in Guadeloupe before setting up shop in the Big Apple. His website claimed his specialty was pain management, and he had several nondescript offices located in strip malls across various boroughs around Manhattan. With a bit more clandestine sleuthing, we found out that the patients in his thriving practice arrived with cash in hand and left with a week’s supply of Oxycontin minus a prescription.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t make the collar because the overeager DEA boys got involved. They wanted to know where Dr. Feel Good got his seemingly never-ending supply of happy pills—specifically the actual drug syndicate behind the storefront charade. So, like the glory hogs they were, the Federal power bullies relegated White Collar to the backseat in the drama. Peter definitely wasn’t happy being treated like a redheaded stepchild, so he made some noise to Hughes and then Kyle Bancroft. When the dust cleared, Peter was granted an invitation to the party, namely a big raid that was to take place over in the shipyards in Newark. Of course, yours truly didn’t make the A-List and I was left out in the cold.

To make a long story short, the raid was successful up to a point. The DEA had managed to find crates of illegal narcotics and arrest a lot of small fry in a much bigger web orchestrated by a Chinese mob that was home based in Taiwan. Every person taken into custody that fateful night knew the drill—pretend to be deaf, dumb, and blind or forfeit your life. However, there was another reason for stating that the raid was less than a homerun. Somehow, during the tense and dangerous mission, Peter disappeared into thin air.

Of course, the White Collar office was in a kerfuffle—I really like to say that word. It sort of just rolls off the tongue making me sound smart. But I digress from the important topic. In a nutshell, the FBI ran around doing their thing to find Peter, but, by the end of the day, they had absolutely nothing—zip, zero, zilch. Not to sound smugly arrogant, but I knew I could do better because I wasn’t hampered by “probable cause” or pesky legal “warrants.” I had a heart-to-heart talk with old Reese Hughes and, surprisingly, he saw things from my perspective. “Do what you need to do, Caffrey,” he whispered somberly, “I’ll cover for you with the Marshals. Find Peter and bring him home.”

Well, I now had my sanctioned marching orders. I know I tend to brag a bit, but I am a realist at heart. I knew I couldn’t do this all by myself. I needed assistance in the form of a team. Of course, Mozzie was the first person I shanghaied into service, and I was astounded that he agreed to come on board so readily. “I’m surprised that you’re okay with this,” I say in amazement. “I didn’t think you even liked Peter.”

Moz shrugged indifferently. “Well, the Suit is like a fungus—he kinda grows on you like athlete’s foot.”

“I’m sure Peter would appreciate you referring to him in such glowing terms,” I snark. “Now Moz, I know you have many arcane talents, and I intend to make good use of them. However, we may need a more esoteric mix to broaden our crew. Can you recruit some people who can get down and dirty and still keep their mouths shut?”

“Does Donald Trump use hair gel?” Mozzie snipes. “Of course, I can find us an adjunct staff who will be the epitome of discretion.”

Mozzie was as good as his word because the next night three decidedly on the cusp misfits showed up on my doorstep. I recognized one right away—Sally, no last name, the computer wizard and Moz’s on and off again girlfriend. From what little past information I had pried out of my bald partner, it seemed that they occasionally connected when they had an itch that they needed to scratch with a frisky romp in the hay.

“Sally, nice to see you again,” I say courteously. The female hacker extraordinaire merely rolls her eyes and walks regally past me into my loft like it is her personal fiefdom.

Next up is a squirrely little guy decked out in leather from head to toe. “This is Lefty,” Mozzie makes the breezy introduction.

My eyes sweep over a fashion-impaired dude who is trying out a “Godfather” look complete with the addition of heavy gold chains adorning his neck. “I take it that you’re a southpaw,” I say to break the ice.

“What did you just call me, Buster?” he growls menacingly. “I’m Italian through and through, not whatever nationality you just said.”

“Southpaw is just a word for someone who is left-handed,” I say innocently. “I simply made an assumption.”

“Well, you assumed wrong,” he snarls with an attitude.

“My bad,” I say as I raise my splayed fingers in the universal gesture of capitulation.

Lefty seems a little less tense after he thinks he has made his tough guy point. “Now, let me warn you,” he adds ominously, “don’t piss me off because I’m carrying heat. I got a permit and everything,” he says with pride as he pulls back his leather jacket so that I can see the piece in his waistband.

“How nice for you,” I mumble uncertainly.

“Let’s move this along,” Mozzie intercedes smoothly as he is points to the final member of a trio of weird miscreants. My eyes travel upward to a mountain that appears to be seven feet tall with the intimidating build of a sumo wrestler topped off with a cute little man bun. “This is Kawaii, our muscle, should we require it. He’s Japanese, in case you missed that fact, and his name means ‘lovable’ or ‘adorable’ in his native language.”

It would seem that this behemoth’s parents had a sense of humor, I think to myself, not daring to say that sentiment out loud lest I appear racially prejudiced. Instead, I try to pronounce “Kawaii” without it sounding garbled. Of course, with the way the trend of the night is going, I fail miserably. The stony giant remains ominously silent and I try to avoid eye contact. The tense quiet lingers and I begin to worry when Moz chimes in.

“Just call him Elmer,” he informs me. “He’ll answer to that.”

My mouth must have been hanging open because Mozzie hastens to enlighten me and put my mind to rest. “What? Elmer is a perfectly good name. That was the name of a pet bulldog he once owned and Kawaii says they both have the same soulful expression.”

“So, is he able to communicate on some level?” I ask worriedly.

“Oh, he’s a regular chatterbox once he gets going, “ Mozzie chortles.

“I’ll take your word for that,” I reply uncertainly.

Suddenly, Lefty is again front and center. “We _are_ going to get paid for our services, right, Pretty Boy?”

“Of course you’ll receive compensation for your work ethic,” I reassure him, “that is, if you display uncommon valor in the face of danger and show me some degree of polite respect and deference.”

Lefty mulls this over, especially the big words in the sentence, before he nods.

“Well, we don’t come cheap,” he warns.

“Of course not,” I sigh as I see Mozzie roll his eyes. Obviously, my partner in crime has suddenly realized that we are going to be footing the bill out of our hidden cache of monetary assets. But, hey, he called Peter a fungus, so that’s only fair.

~~~~~~~~~~

It takes three long days for Mozzie and Sally working in tandem on the Dark Web, daring to go where normal people never let their cursor venture, before we have our first clue. It is an abandoned warehouse in Trenton, New Jersey, and it’s probably where they have temporarily stashed Peter until the nasty bad guys can think of a kitschy way to dispose of his body.

“Hey, Trenton’s where all the Janet Evanovitch novels take place,” Mozzie says excitedly. “Her heroine in the series, Stephanie Plum, is a female bounty hunter who lives in the Burg and chases down bail-skippers. She’s got a zaftig sidekick named Lula and things get zany.”

When I look completely at sea, Moz mutters, “Never mind, Neal, they’re not exactly Pulitzer Prize winners but they are fun to read.”

Suddenly, a dreamy look crosses Sally the Hacker’s face because she’s obviously in the loop. “That other male character in the books, the one named Ranger, sounds really hot. He’s got it all, looks and smarts all rolled up in one hunky exterior.” I bite my tongue before I stupidly step off a dangerous cliff and say that I’m rather intelligent myself and definitely easy on the eyes. Of course, I have valid reasons for remaining mum on the subject of my hunky exterior. Besides not wanting to invade my own zany sidekick’s romantic turf, I definitely want to keep my manhood from becoming maimed by a questionably sane woman with a keyboard in her hands. I really don’t think Sally likes me.

So, now that we have our intel nailed down, we hatch a plan to swoop in and rescue an endangered FBI agent. The next night, Moz and I leave Lefty and Elmer in a rented SUV on the picturesque streets of beautiful rundown Trenton. It’s imperative that we do a bit of our own recon under the cover of darkness before the festivities begin. We quickly ascertain that there is one lone Chinese goon designated as a babysitter for the kidnapped victim. He sits just inside the rollup door in the dilapidated warehouse and seems lost in the realms of erotic ecstasy while perusing porn magazines with lusty naked ladies on the covers. Right now, his hands are quite busy, so he may not be able to run after us or even draw his pistol—neither the one in his shoulder holster nor the one in his hand. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not being overly confident or blasé about this whole rescue thing. It’s serious, dangerous stuff, but we know Peter is marooned somewhere in that vast building and we have to save him. I don’t think I have it in me to break in a new handler.

We reconnoiter when we arrive back at the van and I begin my spiel. “Okay guys, here’s how it’s going to go. Elmer is going to render the lookout unconscious, as quietly as possible. Be gentle, Big Guy,” I say as a warning. “Just put his lights out temporarily rather than permanently,” I implore. King Kong’s stand-in doesn’t answer, but Moz swears he does comprehend English, so I’ll have to be satisfied with that.

“Now you, Lefty,” I continue, “will watch Elmer’s back in case there’s somebody else lurking in there who may try to come to the sentry’s aid.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Lefty says with a smile as he pats his belt where his Luger lives.

“Please, please, do not shoot anybody,” I plead. “Maybe just impair their progress a bit to incapacitate them until we can make a getaway.”

Lefty looks puzzled for a second, so I use smaller words consisting of predominantly one syllable delivered in a patient tone. _“Do not kill any one!”_

“Where’s the fun in that?” the gansta wannabe complains.

“If you want to get paid, then don’t mess up!" I say forcefully. “You can make your bones another day.” Lefty frowns and decides to pout, so I hope I got through his thick head.

Moz and I hang back as a mismatched pair of enforcers saunter up to the warehouse. Our trusty sumo guy rolls up the metal door and stands silhouetted in the moonlight like the Colossus of Rhodes. The poor skinny sentry bolts to his feet in awe-struck fear while fumbling for his weapon. Lefty gets antsy and draws his own gun, which prematurely discharges and shoots Elmer in the foot. The giant pays no attention to his wound. He’s busy swatting the bad dude’s pistol away like an annoying gnat. He then delicately embraces the wide-eyed Chinese man in a bear hug until he goes limp. Like a sweet, doting mother, Elmer carefully lays the unconscious form down on the floor before turning his attention to Lefty, who is now quickly sidling away.

“C’mon, Neal, let’s do our thing and search for the Suit,” Mozzie says hastily. “Let those two knuckleheads sort out their own squabbles.”

The warehouse is like a rabbit warren with aisles and aisles of shelving holding boxes piled to the ceiling. It’s a good bet there are thousands of little white pills inside those carboard cartons just waiting to hit the streets. But that’s not my problem today. Saving Peter is my only objective, and we finally find him looking a little worse for wear tied up in a small enclave that seems to be a sort of office. I quickly release the zip ties while Mozzie grabs some inventory ledgers and we’re off to the races with Peter stumbling blindly and me holding him somewhat erect. When we reach the entrance to the warehouse, the guard is still sleeping peacefully, but Elmer and Lefty are nowhere in sight.

“Should we look for them?” I ask almost in dread.

“We’re not in the Marine Corps, Neal,” Mozzie says in exasperation. “We don’t need to uphold the caveat of never leaving a man behind. Those two are like cockroaches, so they’ll survive. Even with his gimpy foot, Elmer is still quite capable of standing in front of a bus and hijacking it if need be.”

“What are you two talking about?” Peter mumbles.

“Need to know, Suit,” Mozzie quips. “And you don’t need to know.”

“Is the cavalry on the way?” Peter then asks almost incoherently.

“Buddy, we _are_ the cavalry,” I assure him right before he passes out. Moz and I manhandle him into our SUV and make a beeline for the nearest hospital. Mozzie tactfully makes himself scarce when the emergency room begins to fill with FBI agents. I breathe a happy sigh when I spy Elizabeth being escorted in by Reese Hughes. I am beyond relieved to tell her that, although Peter looks a little banged up, the doctor has said it only appears to be gruesome. It’s really not all that bad. In fact, he can be discharged after a night of observation and some IV fluids to combat his dehydration. Of course, Elizabeth has to see for herself so she quickly disappears into the curtained cubicle housing her husband.

Reese Hughes claps me on the back. “You did good, Caffrey,” he growls.

“I believe I did more than good, Sir,” I crow as I hand him the ledgers from the warehouse.

Hughes scans the contents and looks at me with a cocked eyebrow. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume these were not obtained in a legal way.”

“Well, I might have heard something about what you guys call exigent circumstances,” I say with an innocent air. “Maybe that might fly with a judge. If you have your doubts that your excuse will hold water, then perhaps it may be prudent to make copies for yourself before you surrender these documents and they disappear into a government black hole. Who knows—down the road they may prove useful in a less than legal way.”

“Caffrey, are you trying to make me a criminal convert?” Hughes said with a straight face.

“Of course not, Sir, that would be a sacrilege,” I say with my own poker expression.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is now a week later, and I can almost understand the high Peter gets from putting away bad guys. Of course, that endorphin rush is definitely not as good as when I have stolen a Rembrandt or a Matisse. But those are thoughts I’ll never share with Peter because I solemnly uphold certain standards written in the con man’s handbook. Nonetheless, a lot of loose ends have been tied up. On the Federal side of the equation, a plethora of the Chinese Mafia were somehow miraculously arrested, incarcerated, and waiting to stand trial, and a lot of patients were going to have to tough it out with over-the-counter Tylenol or Ibuprofen for their “pain.”

On my end, I have upheld my bargain with my motley crew. Lefty and Elmer had eventually shown up like two bad pennies wanting their payday. They seemed to have patched up their troubles—Elmer’s quite literally. His swollen right foot will have to remain in a cumbersome prosthetic boot for six weeks, but he seems stoic about the whole thing. Mozzie, bless his kind little heart, is a trooper and has offered to take care of Sally’s reward for her service. He’s been AWOL for several days, so I would imagine he’s quite busy working off our debt.

Peter, the ungrateful lug, is complaining that the FBI didn’t get the ringleaders of the drug cartel.

“Can’t you just be content with the little wins in life, Peter?” I whine as I sit in the visitor’s chair across from his desk. “The main players in the drug game have hotfooted it home to China so they’re out of your reach.”

When my handler still had that disgusted look on his face, I try to raise his spirits. “Maybe, when I’m off the anklet, we can take a little fact-finding mission to Taiwan. On the other hand, perhaps I could speak to Hughes right now and he can pull some strings with the Marshals.”

“I heard that and it’s not happening on my watch,” Hughes’ stern voice wafts in as he is about to descend the stairs outside his office. “If you were let loose in China, Caffrey, you’d probably wreak so much havoc it would most likely cause an international incident!”

“Baby steps,” I whisper to Peter when Hughes is out of earshot. “The boss man may still come around in time. I just happen to know the old curmudgeon can be somewhat flexible when it suits him,” I end with a wink.

**Author's Note:**

> As a nod to the incredulous, I wanted to share something. Over a year ago, I wrote about a new mutant strain of virus that caused an epidemic in New York City. It was a White Collar story that I finally got around to posting in December 2019, and it was called “Armageddon.” If you haven’t read it, you may want to take a look.


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